


Ego Collision

by lynnmonster



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), due South
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Multi, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-16
Updated: 2004-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnmonster/pseuds/lynnmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray saw Hard Core Logo play, once</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ego Collision

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my fabulous betas: Heuradys, Brooklinegirl, and Justacat. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

_"I guess it was about 1980," Ray told him, knuckling the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, in fact I think it was August -- but, *Christ*, it was hot and sticky. Stella and I were fighting like cats and dogs. I think we were just irritable because we had no A/C, but we were still just kids, really, so all the arguing seemed like the end of the world. We were taking a 'break' from each other, which basically meant I was couch-surfing with whatever high school buddies were still around and didn't mind putting up with me for a couple of nights."_

_Ray snorted fondly. "Back then we all had flat stomachs and band t-shirts." He paused, and Fraser leaned a little closer across the wobbly bar table._

***

Mikey and Chip were still around the old neighborhood, and Chip had a ratty green fold-out that he let Ray crash on. His "bachelor pad" was full of dented beer cans and old pizza boxes, but Ray wasn't about to complain about the housekeeping.

Ray just wanted to stay in and mope in front of the television, but Mikey called with the news that he'd gotten them onto the  _guest list_  for a club show. He and Chip eventually convinced Ray that he'd be nothing short of a total pussy if he wussed out.

***

_"It was their only show in Chicago that year -- they were trying to drum up an American audience, I think. The show wasn't packed, I mean, the bar wasn't really carding anyone, but it wasn't empty, either."_

***

The "club" was really just a converted warehouse. Ray was glad he hadn't dressed up *or* over-done the punk thing. He had the feeling that poseurs got their asses kicked here.

The music was beyond loud -- it was like the sound waves were stomping in and pummeling his eardrums. Ray loved it. He told his brain to take a hike and allowed the noise to direct his body into thrashing aggression.

This kind of dancing didn't make people think you were a pansy. This kind of dancing made people think you were  ** _crazy_**.

The playlist was mostly original stuff, although he recognized -- and heartily approved of -- a couple of covers. The music was good, but the vibe the band was giving off was another level of intense entirely. It was totally the wrong word to describe a punk band ... but they had a  _groove_ , some kind of wordless synchronicity that demanded attention and movement.

Ray was in pretty good shape; he could normally dance or box or run for as long as he wanted. But every time he entertained thoughts about sitting the next one out, or grabbing a drink, or taking a piss, the next song started up and he shook off the sweat and kept on going until the set was over.

***

Voice hoarse from screaming his appreciation, Ray alternated between gulping his beer and rolling the cool bottle across his sweaty forehead. He hovered near the stage and watched the band pack up their equipment, unwilling to let go of the time he'd spent dancing to whatever tune they called.

He felt a little like he was being abandoned when the last of the clutter was being carted off. Although if he wasn't mistaken, the lead guitarist gave him a wink before disappearing behind the curtain.

***

Ray lined up his fourth empty beer bottle next to his other three dead soldiers and got up. Chip and Mikey were bound to be hitting on women, somewhere. He should probably track them down. He hoped they didn't leave without him, but first it was high time for him to find the can.

He wandered through the dank club, looking for a bathroom. He pushed open an unmarked door and found himself backstage. One of the bar guys -- the manager, maybe? -- nodded to him as he passed by. Ray decided to take advantage of the situation and do a little exploring. He walked by a few tired-looking men messing with some sound equipment, and didn't get any reaction from them other than casual acknowledgment.

Weird, but cool.

He found the backstage john and was a little disillusioned to find that it wasn't any cleaner than the one used by the general public.

***

Ray pushed the swinging door open with his shoulder as he was zipping back up. The door flew outward and almost smashed some guy in the face. Ray stepped aside and said, "Sorry," keeping his head down and hoping that he wasn't about to get recognized as an intruder and kicked out.

"Hey," said the guy. He didn't sound  _too_  pissed off.

Ray looked up and the guy was giving him a look that was 90% attitude and 10% genuine interest. He belatedly realized it was the guitarist from his new favorite band. Ray felt like there was something familiar about him, especially once the guy's expression shifted into open curiosity.

Ray looked at the guitar player, and the guy narrowed his eyes right back at him in a moment of assessment.

Huh.

"What's your hurry?" Billy asked.

***

Billy had apparently decided then and there that Ray was all right, because he'd thumped him on the back and brought him to the green room.

Ray looked around, taking in the general squalor and the scuzzy red industrial carpet gone black in patches wherever it had been melted by cigarette butts and god-knows-what-else.

"Here, have a beer." Billy tossed a can of Black Label and Ray plucked it out of the air.

"Thanks, man."

Ray sipped his beer and found himself in the unusual position of not being the most wired person in the room. Billy was obviously still hyped from the show, prowling around the room, picking things up and putting them back down without even looking at them.

The music coming from the act onstage was piped in over the old speaker hanging up near the ceiling. They made fun of the other band and eased into some standard guy-bullshitting.

Billy was pretty manic, telling Ray about some of their other gigs.

Ray told Billy about his car, and didn't mention Stella once.

He caught Billy looking at him occasionally, tilting his head and peering at Ray like he was trying to figure out a puzzle, but every time Ray really started to stare back, Billy flicked his eyes away and found something new to fiddle with.

Ray noticed Billy's simmering energy, and the way his baggy jeans slid just a little lower whenever he moved, and wondered if *he* looked that hot when he was all worked up.

The erratic course Billy traced around the room passed directly in front of Ray's seat at one point, and the rolled-up sleeve of his unbuttoned plaid shirt brushed Ray's nose. The metallic scent of work-sweat and cigarette smoke wafted up from the fabric and Ray's mouth started to water.

Billy stopped his pacing and spun, pointing his pinkie and forefinger at Ray.

"You're not Canadian, are you."

Ray wasn't sure if that was a question or a statement.

"Uh ... no?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, man, I'm sure," Ray said, starting to get a little annoyed.

Billy squinted at him with his head slightly cocked, and Ray made his face as blank as possible.

Finally accepting that as an answer, Billy shifted his focus to the empty room. "Joe would get such a kick out of this -- where the fuck is he?" he asked under his breath. Then he shook his head like a dog emerging from water, and started digging through a stack of old records on the table.

Billy's twitchiness was rubbing off on Ray, and he almost wanted to start pacing, too. He wanted to  _move_ , to do  _something_ , but he felt trapped on his makeshift milk-crate seat because he wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to be acting. Just to be contrary, he forced himself to stand.

Ray threw his empty can in the trash and wondered if he should leave.

***

Billy's head snapped up at the clang of the can hitting side of the metal with more force than truly necessary.

"Not leaving yet, are you?" Maybe he'd picked up on Ray's sudden dissatisfaction.

Ray shrugged and leaned back against the wall. He thought Billy sounded a little disappointed, but he wasn't sure. He *did* know that he wasn't going to hang around like some fucking  _groupie_ , though.

"Wait, don't go yet. Just tell me. What did you think?" Ray didn't answer, and Billy sighed.

"Of the set. Of the show! What did you  _think_?" He sounded like he really wanted to know.

Ray got over his little fit of resentment and found he had plenty to say. The words just kept tumbling past his lips -- he couldn't stop them, even if he was afraid that he was gushing like a schoolgirl with a crush. Billy kept moving closer as Ray talked, like the praise was reeling him in.

"...and 'Sonic Reducer' just kicked  _ass_ ; I've never heard anyone do it so good before. And when the singer? Joe, right? When Joe spit on that asshole in the front row I thought I was going to die--"

"I saw you dancing," Billy interrupted him.

Ray's stomach was suddenly twisted into knots.

"I like dancing," Ray said belligerently. Angry was good. Angry might let him bluff his way out of this situation, whatever it was.

"I could tell," said Billy -- not angry at all and much, much closer than Ray had realized. "You're really good."

Ray could feel the hot prickles of a blush sweeping across his face.  _Oh shit_ , he thought,  _I really *am* the groupie in this scenario_.

***

Ray was glad of the wall at his back, there to hold him up while Billy's breath brushed his overheated cheek. The puff of air felt warm, even against his flushing skin, and had the vague sharp tang of alcohol.

Was he supposed to say something now, or what?

Billy ducked his head and Ray felt a swipe of warm wetness being licked up behind his ear. He shuddered even though he was really trying not to, and willed himself to stop shaking. Billy's face reappeared in his field of vision wearing a wicked grin that was full of promise.

Billy just pushed down on Ray's shoulder with one hand and started unbuttoning his own jeans with the other. Ray finally let himself know what this was turning into. He was going to be sucking another guy's cock. If he went along with this, he was going to be sucking  _Billy's_  cock.

After a short, blank moment of complete disconnect, Ray decided that was fair, since Billy was the one in the band and all.

He sank to his knees, letting the wall act as a butt-rest, and helped ease Billy's jeans down over his hips. There wasn't any underwear to deal with.

Billy wrapped his hand around his dick and pointed it towards Ray's mouth. Ray didn't know *how* he was going to feel about this later, but it seemed completely inevitable that he would lean forward and run his tongue along the length of the ridged flesh in front of him. When he got to the head, which was already leaking like crazy, he swept his tongue around it in a circle and licked it clean.

A strangled groan escaped Billy's throat, and he grasped the back of Ray's head. Ray found that it was the easiest thing in the world to open up and let the palm cradling his skull support him as Billy fed his cock into Ray's mouth with his other hand.

He held perfectly still as Billy pushed in, almost all the way to the back of his throat. He realized gratefully that he could still kind of breathe through his nose, and snuck in a quick and awkward swallow as Billy was easing back out. Billy's hips surged forward when he did that, and then his cock was rocking steadily in and out of Ray's mouth.

The taste was ... it was kind of bitter, and salty with sweat, but there was an underlying musky flavor that was almost a *smell*. He surprised himself by thinking that the drag of pliable flesh over his tongue was more satisfying than a whole pack of cigarettes.

Ray was totally winging it -- he just tried to keep his teeth from scraping anything important, and let his tongue rub the underside of Billy's dick, which he really seemed to appreciate. And even though he could get some actual suction going only intermittently, Billy didn't seem to mind at all.

"Oh,  _yeah_ ," Billy fucking Tallent was saying, as the metal door flew open and clanged loudly against the wall.

***

_Ray remained silent for a long while. He creased and uncreased Fraser's Canadian newspaper repetitively, the one with the obituary in it._

***

The looming silhouette in the doorway just stood there for a moment, and all three figures were frozen in a tableau of shock.

"What the  _fuck_?" Joe Dick grated out, and threw a half-empty glass against the wall. It shattered and a stream of brown liquor started creeping towards Ray's feet. "You're blowing boytoys in back rooms, now, is that it?"

Joe stomped over to them with destruction in his eyes. Billy's cock was still in Ray's mouth, and Ray knew he should be moving or running or  _something_ , but he was caught by the warm weight on his tongue as securely as any fish was ever hooked.

Joe got within an arm's length and then stopped abruptly. His face was a picture of frustrated rage -- like he didn't know just who he should be killing, or whether he should be doing something else entirely.

Billy swelled inside of Ray's mouth.

Joe lifted a fist and then did a visible double take, his eyes flickering between Ray's face and Billy's and back again.

"No. Fucking. Way," he breathed.

" _Joe_ ," said Billy, like he maybe he meant for Joe to see this all along, and the murderous look on Joe's face was wiped away. A slow smile replaced it, nasty and calculating, but compelling nonetheless.

"Switch places," Joe said.

***

Ray braced his hands on the wall, gut clenching with terror and arousal. Somehow, the situation had slipped entirely out of his control. His palms rested against the rough concrete about a yard above the top of Billy's head, and his pants and shorts were tangled below his knees. One of Billy's hands was resting on Ray's thigh, and Billy's warm, wet mouth was diligently sucking the  _hell_  out of his cock.

It felt so good he barely flinched when Joe stopped stroking Ray's asshole and pushed a fingerful of something slippery past the tight ring of muscle. "Steady on, little soldier," he said mockingly.

_Screw you_ , Joe Dick.

Ray did flinch, a little, when the first finger was roughly joined by a second. Joe didn't exactly apologize, but he did aim straight for Ray's prostate, and wasn't  _that_  a kick.

Then Joe was lining himself up, and between the sucking and the fingering, Ray was too blissed-out to freak.

"Oh, God, Billiam, he looks just like --" Joe pushed in and grunted, "--  _uhn_ , just like you."

Ray blinked stinging sweat out of his eyes and tried to distract himself from the unfamiliar -- but bearable -- burn in his ass as Joe breached him. He took a deep breath, which Joe must have taken as some kind of signal, because he thrust the rest of the way in. *All* the rest of the way in, and Ray couldn't help but squirm away. He had a moment of worry, afraid he might be choking Billy, but then Joe  _moved_  and all Ray could do was drop his head and concentrate on getting turned completely fucking inside-out.

The rasp of his own labored breathing echoed loudly in his ears.

"You little slut, you love this." Joe bit his earlobe, hard and quick, and Ray couldn't suppress a moan.

Joe was almost  _shoving_  him forward with every thrust, forcing Ray deeper into Billy's throat than he ever would have ventured on his own. Ray's shoulder burned as Joe's teeth sank into the spare flesh above his bone.

Ray whipped his head up and around, glaring, but Joe wasn't paying attention. Joe was utterly focused on the scene below them. Ray followed his gaze and watched as Joe pushed him in and out of Billy's spit-sheened lips. Mesmerized, Ray relaxed a little more and let Joe direct their rhythm.

_This_  had to be why musicians said playing was better than sex, sometimes. This being totally in synch, like the band was earlier.

_This_  was worth chasing with everything you had.

Joe and Billy were like a duet. Ray was just lucky enough to be the instrument they were playing.

Ray gave up thinking and simply reveled in getting fucked into Billy's welcoming mouth. Billy dropped the hand he'd been resting on Ray's thigh and pulled himself out of his unbuttoned jeans. He watched the dusky head of Billy's dick appear and disappear again as his curled fingers slid up and down.

Shiny gloss of saliva and Ray's own precome on Billy's lips, shiny white fluid welling out of the top of Billy's cock.

"Such a whore," Joe said, and Ray had no idea who he was talking to.

***

Billy was pumping himself furiously as Joe sped up Ray's pace. The slapping noise of flesh on flesh echoed off the concrete walls.

"What a pretty picture," Joe sneered. He wrapped his hands in Ray's hair, tugging his head up off his chest just enough that he couldn't escape Billy's eyes looking up ... and just behind him. Billy's attention was completely and totally focused on Joe. And while Joe was fucking him steadily, ruthlessly, Ray could feel that Joe was still looking down over Ray's shoulder at the show on the floor.

Then Billy spurted all over his own hand, and Ray was transfixed by the sight.

"Motherfucker," Joe gasped, and pounded Ray's prostate over and over, driving into him with an abandon that had been missing before. A few moments of this treatment and Ray was undone. He came down Billy's throat with an inarticulate wail.

Billy swallowed and eased back, releasing Ray. He slid his butt to the floor, still staring up at Joe, eyes unreadable.

Joe's fingers clenched painfully in Ray's hair. "Take it, yeah, take it," Joe chanted. He pounded wildly into Ray, who was still shaky from his own orgasm. That inside-out feeling increased with Joe's intensity -- especially with no action of his own to distract him -- and Ray wasn't sure how much more he could handle without flying apart. " _Take_  it," Joe said one last time, shuddered, and came inside him.

***

As he emerged back out into the real world, Ray felt used and confused. And oddly happy.

He ordered one last beer at the bar and lit a cigarette. He started to whistle "Who The Hell Do You Think You Are?," tossed the bartender a ten, and set off to look for Mikey and Chip.

***

_"Yeah, so like I said, I saw them once. It was a great show." Ray smiled a secret, rueful smile to himself and put the newspaper down._

_"It says here that they were well-known for their aggressive approach to their audience," Fraser noted._

_"Trust me, Fraser, you have *no* idea."_

_Fraser was left with the unnerving feeling that there was a lot more to the story than that._

 


End file.
